"Things will get easier as you get older".
I was eight when this was stated by my surgeon.
Six years later he broke me for my benefit.
My body his canvas.
No longer unmarked.
His blade.
A paintbrush.
Two years later.
Anxious.
Depressed.
Well into the 'teenage'.
Are you sure these are supposed to be the best parts of my life?
Red and white stains cover my sheets.
In a patriotic fashion.
Now Seventeen.
Neither alcohol or a female has touched my virgin lips.
Few friends.
Lack of confidence.
Pops Prozac daily.
Why am I not enjoying myself?
I should be enjoying myself!
Society tells me I should be enjoying myself!
Why am I not?!
The doctors lied.
Fuck adolescence.
Now eighteen.
No longer straight edge.
No longer blonde.
No longer overweight.
Ink drilled into my skin.
Hair a nice colour.
Physically fit.
Less suicidal.
Still can't say I'm content.
Will I flourish in adulthood?
-XR
YOU ARE READING
Moments of gladness, moments of sadness & everything in-between.
PoetryI'm an 18 year old boy with Cerebral Palsy, depression and anxiety. I'm a British Hipster Punk Fuck who has dreams of happiness and independence. Living with my difficulties can be saddening and difficult so to cope I draw (follow my Instagram: ale...
